


The Apple of My Eye

by VoidGhost



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst, Crack Treated Seriously, Crowley Was Raphael Before Falling (Good Omens), Demon!Aziraphale, Humor, M/M, Multiverse, Role Reversal, angel!Crowley, canon meets fanon, except he isn’t fallen, reversed omens
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-07
Updated: 2019-09-07
Packaged: 2020-10-12 00:36:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20555321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VoidGhost/pseuds/VoidGhost
Summary: On his way to drink away the End Times, after discovering Azirafell's pawn shop flooded with holy water and giving up hope, Anthony trips and falls into a portal to an alternate universe - one with a living Azirafell, but not his own.-Somewhere else, Aziraphale is packing up his bookshop only to be interrupted by an Archangel falling on his floor.





	The Apple of My Eye

**Author's Note:**

> based on @speremint's Reversed Omens AU!
> 
> im....sorry if i butchered your characters aldkjfaosdjf  
this is very focused on Aziraphale&Anthony and Crowley&Azirafell. potentially very fun, potentially disastrous.
> 
> hope yall enjoy!

Armageddon has passed, Adam lived happily with his oblivious parents, the Them adopted Warlock into their clique, the rest of the world has conveniently forgotten all the weird phenomenons that occurred within the past month, and Aziraphale and Crowley have bought a small cottage out in South Downs. If Aziraphale compared their lives to a novel, he would say it has reached its conclusion. 

The only loose end he would draw up is that Heaven and Hell would inevitably be back. Their little parlor trick would only placate the two sides for so long until they tried again. At least it gave them time to figure out what to do next time.

But right now, Aziraphale was more focused on packing up his books. 

The bookstore looked more barren than it had since Aziraphale first bought it over a hundred years ago. Half of the bookshelves were already miracled back at the cottage and their contents stood in a tall wall of boxes by the door. Crowley would be there any second with the Bentley after spending yesterday carefully transporting each plant in the narrow backseat. Much like Aziraphale, it felt more respectful to his plants to personally transport them instead of miracle them in place. 

Aziraphale had packed up most of his belongings, opting to leave behind just a few pieces of furniture that wouldn’t fit in their little cottage. One of these items was the circular rug he kept in the center of the room, hiding the call circle to Heaven. He would have to erase the markings before selling the shop, but he decided to leave that for last. Like cutting his final ties to Above. 

There was only one shelf left with a full inventory of books, and Aziraphale carefully stacked them in one of the boxes. He would hold each book for a lingering moment, recalling how many times he’s flipped open their pages, before setting it down and moving on to the next one. He was in the middle of the second shelf when there was a sudden crackle in the air, like static making his hair stand on end, followed by a  _ crack! _ . The lights flickered and darkened, not only in the bookshop, but on down the street. Aziraphale heard the resounding sound of a heavy object hitting the floor, until he snapped his fingers and the lights came on again. 

He found he had collapsed to one knee out of shock, so Aziraphale stood and surveyed the damage. The bookshop was relatively the same; except that, in the middle of the summoning circle, laid an unfamiliar - yet eerily familiar - body. A tall, lanky figure dressed in fine pink-and-white clothes was draped across the angelic runes. For the moment, they appeared stunned or knocked unconscious, but then the figure twitched and began to move. 

Fearing a trick from Heaven, Aziraphale donned the only weapon he had available:  _ Jane Eyre _ by Charlotte Brönte _ ,  _ an original 1847 copy signed by the sisters. If he was less frazzled, he might have chosen the much thicker textbook on the history of Europe on the shelf just below Brönte’s classic (with many written notes in the margins correcting the text).

“Reveal yourself!” He threatened, holding  _ Jane Eyre _ above his head. “You are in the presence of a Principality, Guardian of the Eastern Gate—!”

“And you are in the presence of an Archangel, so I’d much rather if you put that down.” The figure stood, fixing his sleeves and placing a pair of pink tinted glasses on his nose, and Aziraphale gaped. 

It was Crowley, but most definitely not  _ his _ Crowley. This was an angel, the divine energy surrounding him unmistakable. A powerful angel. An—

“Archangel?” Aziraphale repeated. 

This Not-Crowley froze upon finally looking up, scanning Aziraphale up and down with naked disbelief. “Azirafell?”

There was something off about the way Not-Crowley said his name. “Azira _ phale _ , actually. Um...how…?”

Not-Crowley shook his head and crossed his arms, guarded even when blessed from Above. “The Antichrist. He must be coming into his power if there’s portals opening up to other dimensions.”

“Adam can do that?” Aziraphale wondered aloud. Anathema must not have told him about theories of the Multiverse - for that he was relieved.

Not-Crowley perked up. “Adam is his name?” 

“ _ Our _ Antichrist is named Adam. Very creative boy, when he’s not trying to end the world.” They had tea at Anathema’s cottage last week. Adam was the ringleader for a new game the Them created, where Adam and Crowley teamed up as demons to destroy the world - which was contained in Anathema’s garden. The Them had to defeat the foul demons with swords made of sticks and crossing their fingers together shouting some quote from a movie, as Newt explained to him. Crowley enjoyed being part of their game even if he wouldn’t admit it. 

Not-Crowley seemed confused. “He still lives? And the world isn’t destroyed?”

“Oh, we figured it out in the end,” Aziraphale said, omitting the fact that he and Crowley did very little to stop the end of the world aside from have a short chat with the Antichrist. 

“Right.” Not-Crowley looked around, his lips pulling into a sneer that Aziraphale recognized that he was displeased by something. “‘We’?”

“Ah, right. I suppose, if you came from a second universe like you said, this must be dreadfully confusing. Come, have a seat, I’ll make some tea.” Aziraphale stepped over the mess of boxes and hurried to the back room, where the stove and his tea set still remained. He left it out just in case he felt like a tea break in between packing books. 

Not-Crowley followed slowly, his arms wrapped around himself as he took in the bookshop, pausing at the divine circle in the center with that displeased sneer again. He stepped around it before following where Aziraphale disappeared to. 

Aziraphale handed him a freshly brewed cup - he made it the way Crowley preferred, just to see if this Not-Crowley would accept it - before showing him towards the one loveseat that remained in the back room. That one was to go in the cottage, but neither he nor Crowley had gotten around to it. 

Not-Crowley took a cautious sip, hummed in satisfaction, and took a deeper drink. Aziraphale grinned into his cup. 

“This is quite fascinating,” Aziraphale said to break the silence. “I do wonder what Crowley will think when he gets here.”

Not-Crowley perked. “I assume I am the one who Fell here?” He paused. “And I go by Crowley. Hm.” 

“You do not?”

“Most call me Anthony.”

“Ah. That is better than Not-Crowley.”

Anthony chuckled and took another sip of tea. “I agree with you. This is fascinating. Odd, but fascinating.” There was something subdued about this version of Crowley, and Aziraphale couldn’t decide if it was Heaven’s influence or something else. 

He began to wonder what he, himself, would’ve been like, without the inhibition of displeasing Heaven. How different is Anthony’s ‘Azirafell’? 

“Crowley might be a demon, but he has a soft spot for humanity. He really is kind.” Aziraphale leaned closer, and said in a hushed tone, “But don’t tell him I said that.” 

Anthony seemed to understand. “Right. Azirafell never let me say anything about him like that.” His tone was soft, melancholic, and Aziraphale frowned. 

“Did something happen?” Angels can sense love, and Anthony was filled with it, but especially at this moment. It was love, but instead of the bright, sharp love of newlyweds or young couples, or even the dimmer yet still strong love of old spouses, the love inside Anthony was burning hot molasses, strong and unparalleled yet softened enough to melt. Not broken, but mournful.

Anthony put his head in his hands and Aziraphale was quick to take their teacups and set them on some spare box nearby. His hands fluttered, because despite this ethereal being having a striking resemblance to his demon, this was not Crowley, and much rather a stranger. 

“Just before I fell into one of the Antichrist’s portals,” Anthony explained, running a hand under his tinted glasses. “I was on my way to get piss drunk. Partly because Heaven was after me after I offed Sandalphon, but mostly because I discovered Azirafell’s pawn shop flooded in holy water.”

_ Oh _ . Aziraphale thought the circumstances sounded vaguely familiar, but couldn’t place it at the moment. He was too preoccupied with trying to comfort the grieving angel in front of him. “I’m very sorry for your loss.” 

Anthony let out a bitter laugh. “‘Course you are.” 

Now he sounded most like Aziraphale’s Crowley, which didn’t settle well with him at all. 

He allowed Anthony to have a moment, to reel himself back in and appear presentable. Eventually, Anthony straightened, fixed his glasses and his sleeves - Aziraphale caught the curious flash of something gold before it was hidden by pink cuffs - and Anthony had finally closed himself off entirely, back to the prim and proper Archangel he needed to be. 

_ Archangel.  _ That thought was still frightening. 

“I know what you’re thinking,” Anthony said, his tone back to his solid, unwavering authority. “I don’t bite.” 

“Which Archangel are you, if you don’t mind my asking…?” Aziraphale asked. “I don’t recall one named ‘Anthony’.”

Anthony’s lip quirked up in one corner. “That’s because it’s actually Raphael.” 

“That…makes a lot of sense.” Aziraphale had always been told that Raphael wasn’t a real Archangel. The figure had been depicted by the humans for many years, known most for his caduceus he kept by his side. Even as a fictional angel, this figure was the prime reason that snakes became a symbol of good health. That particular fad had gone out of use a few hundred years ago, much to Aziraphale’s disappointment (and to Crowley’s, though he never said so). Aziraphale always suspected that it originated from one of Crowley’s good deeds that he refused to own up to. 

“I never actually told him,” Anthony continued. Aziraphale could guess who he meant. “He always thought I was a Principality, actually. Thought I would scare him off if I just approached a demon with all six wings flapping about.” He ran a stressed hand across his forehead. “Then I just never told him. And he died before I could.”

“Is it possible he could just be discorporated?” It was a weak question, one that was met with a hard glare of golden eyes over tinted glasses. 

“You know precisely what holy water does to a demon.” 

Aziraphale nodded. He still felt a twist of guilt knowing that he had gifted Crowley with that sort of weapon. It was only a bit of relief now that he knew for certain Crowley had no intentions of using it on himself. 

He does not know what he would do if he found Crowley as a puddle on the floor.

“The way you’ve spoken of this,” Aziraphale said, choosing his words carefully. “Is Armeggeddon still happening in your world?”

Anthony nodded. He sagged against the loveseat as if all the energy had been drained out of him. Aziraphale was certain that he had been running on nervous fumes since falling through a portal.

“Well,” Aziraphale said, cautious. Archangels are his higher ups, and even after dismissing Heaven entirely, there was still that deep-seated anxiety when faced with one. “As a version of Azirafell…” Anthony’s golden eyes narrowed. “I would say that he would want you to do your best in stopping the Apocalypse. For him.” 

Anthony’s mouth twisted in a pained grimace, his eyes flaring with ethereal rage. Aziraphale couldn’t help flinching back. He had been trained to respect the higher ranks of angels since his creation, but Archangels were to be feared. Even if the face looking at him was his dearest friend. 

Anthony seemed to realize this belatedly. He sunk back, blowing out a sharp exhale of air. “Don’t say things like that with his face.” 

Aziraphale didn’t reply, instead anxiously tapping his fingers on his knees. The tea cups sitting aside had gone cold, but he couldn’t bring himself to stand and prepare a new batch. 

Thankfully, the tense silence was interrupted by the phone. The vintage rotary blared a loud charm, startling Anthony out of his brooding. Aziraphale hastily stood from the loveseat and rushed over, knowing who must be on the other end. 

“Crowley?” He answered, vaguely noticing Anthony cock his head in interest. 

“ _ Yeah, angel, _ ” Crowley came from the other end, a relief to hear. “ _ Listen, we got a uh, situation over here _ .” 

“Oh, I do too,” Aziraphale said. “Are you on your way here?”

“ _ Actually, I’m on my way to Tadfield _ ,” Crowley said, and Aziraphale could now make out the distant hum of the Bently on the other end of the line. “ _ Hard to explain, but can you meet me at Anathema’s? _ ”

“Of course. I was going to suggest we go there, too.” Aziraphale said. “Will you--”

“ _ Already called her, Adam should be there when we get there. _ ” 

“It sounds like you already know what’s happened, dear,” Aziraphale suggested. He didn’t notice as his fingers tangled in the coiled cord of the phone. 

“ _ Good to know I’m right. You should hurry, though. Heaven is sure to have felt that power burst. _ ”

Aziraphale hadn’t thought of that. It wouldn’t do them any good if Heaven caught wind of another Archangel. 

“We’ll see you soon, dear.” 

“ _ Yup _ .” 

The line went dead, and Aziraphale replaced the phone with a fond smile. It was grounding to hear Crowley’s voice, especially after this strange afternoon with someone who is identical to his demon but vastly different. 

When he turned back to Anthony, he found the Archangel already watching him, his head tilted to the side, something soft in his features as his golden eyes dragged up and down Aziraphale’s form. Something dreamily, like he wasn’t entirely there. 

Aziraphale cleared his throat, and Anthony snapped his eyes away, coming back to himself. “Crowley is headed to Tadfield. I’ll call a taxicab and we’ll be on our way.” 

Anthony hesitantly stood, tucking his hands in his pockets. “Tadfield?”

“I’ll explain on the way. But we should be wary. Crowley thinks Heaven must have felt your arrival here.” 

Anthony blanched. “Right.” 

Aziraphale phoned a taxicab, and the two ethereal beings slid into the vehicle on their way to Tadfield. 

-

As this was happening, exiting South Downs and on its way to Tadfield, a dark Bently was inhabited by two creatures of the occult. 

“Anathema’s a witch?”

“Yes.”

“And she’s friends with the Antichrist?”

“Yep.”

“And his name is Adam?”

“Uh-huh.”

“But we shouldn’t kill him?”

“Nope.”

The demon version of his angel, Azirafell, was certainly a vacuum of never ending questions. Crowley, though he would never admit it, quite liked the company. Azirafell’s style was not unlike the angel’s, but at least he had a refreshingly different pattern to hyperfixate on. Although he wasn’t sure if he liked such dark colors on his angel. 

Personality, however. Azirafell was a riot. 

Ever since the demon popped into existence in the center of his garden, yelling about sergeants and faulty exorcisms, it has been like finding his worst other half. Once they got over the initial introductions, things have been going smoothly. Well, ‘smoothly’ as defined by two demons with a love of mischief. 

Azirafell was fascinated with his eyes, mentioning something about how, “Anthony always had a penchant for serpents,” which lead to Crowley boasting about his time as the Serpent of Eden, which lead to Azirafell goading about  _ his  _ time as the Bird of Eden, which has lead to a strained air of competitiveness ever since. 

All the while, Crowley had tried to get Azirafell caught up on current events. According to the new demon, they were in the middle of stopping the Apocalypse before Adam began opening portals to their universe. Azirafell had accidentally fallen in one that appeared in his pawn shop as Shadwell tried to perform an exorcism straight out of  _ The Exorcist _ . Crowley had never tested that theory, but he was glad to know that it remained a fictional TV trope. 

Not long after Azirafell arrived, there was another shocking splinter in the air, much stronger than before. The lights flickered, the ground shook. Azirafell looked just as concerned as Crowley. 

“I hope that was Anthony,” He said with a strained chuckle. 

They formed a half-baked plan, got Aziraphale on board, and then they were on their way to Tadfield.

Now, he was just answering whatever questions the demon had about their post-apocalypse world. 

Azirafell had gone momentarily quiet, however. He had his chin perched on his hand, watching Crowley with his strange double pupils. Under the steady beat of Queen’s  _ Bohemian Rhapsody _ , the magpie demon mumbled something incoherent.

“Yes?” Crowley prompted. 

Azirafell hummed. “Oh, I’m just thinking aloud.” He almost seemed sheepish now, but it was gone as quick as Crowley noticed it, replaced with a cheeky grin. He was still not used to Aziraphale’s face appearing so lax, without the threat of Heaven’s expectations hanging over his head. 

“Humor me,” Crowley said, returning his eyes to the road. “We still got a ways.”

There was a pause, and Crowley wondered if Azirafell decided to drop it. Then, a huff. “What would you be…willing to give up for your Aziraphale?”

Crowley sent him a narrowed look, one eyebrow raised. Azirafell backtracked. 

“Okay, how about this: if you were an angel, and your angel a demon, would you…Fall for him?”

Crowley scoffed.  _ Subtle. _ He let his sunglasses drop to the tip of his nose, his eyes turned to fix on Azirafell, who appeared to already know what the answer will be. “Without a doubt.”

Still, the magpie demon pouted. 

“What did you think I was going to say?” Crowley continued. “You have your own Crowley, after all.”

“Yes, but I’d hoped there was an Anthony out there with some sense,” Azirafell argued. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“ _ I mean _ , that you  _ Anthonys  _ apparently lack any self preservation,” Azirafell said, waving an irritated hand. “Throwing yourselves into danger, all for the sake of some irrelevant demon - or angel in your case--”

“You’re not  _ irrelevant _ ,” Crowley argued, something fierce that he’s held back for six thousand years flaring in his chest. “And did it ever occur to you that you  _ Aziraphales  _ might have  _ too much  _ self preservation?”

“I beg to differ. I’m not just looking out for myself, I’m trying to keep Anthony from doing something he’d regret…!”

“He won’t regret it, I can promise you that.”

“But what about your Aziraphale? What if he Fell because of you? Wouldn’t he regret it?”

“Would you?”

Crowley fixed him with another snake-eyed stare, knowing that the Bently was more than capable of avoiding any traffic disasters by itself. Azirafell squirmed in his seat, his pout twisting into a displeased frown. 

“...Yes.”

“Liar.” 

Azirafell huffed, settling back against the carseat. “We’re demons. It’s what we do.”

There was an awkward silence between them, broken only by  _ You’re My Best Friend _ flooding through the speakers. Crowley had a feeling that the Bently wouldn’t let him change it. 

“You know why I wouldn’t regret it?”

Azirafell kept his gaze steady on the road ahead of them, but his attention was undoubtedly on Crowley. 

“Because I already lost Aziraphale once.” A beat, then Azirafell fully turned towards him. Crowley continued, “Before Armeggeddon passed, I found his bookshop up in flames. I thought it was hellfire. That the angels had gone after him like the demons went after me. Only he wasn’t so lucky to escape.” His thumbs tapped a pattern on the wheel, an anxious tick. “I decided to wait for the end of the world by getting piss drunk. And wouldn’t you know, at my worst moment, a discorporated Aziraphale appears in front of me.” He chuckled bitterly. “He couldn’t see how much of a mess I was, thank Somebody.” He met Azirafell’s pained blue eyes. “I’ve wanted to live for that angel since he told me he gave his flaming sword away, but it wasn’t until then that I realized I couldn’t live without him there beside me.”

Azirafell had an odd color to his face. His jaw dropped, Crowley could make out a pair of faintly defined fangs. His double pupils almost made it easier to read his expressions. Or maybe this version of Aziraphale lacked a filter.

Then Azirafell turned away, shaking his head. He muttered, more to himself, “Ridiculous. Ridiculous…”

There wasn’t going to be any further conversation, Crowley could tell. Instead, he turned up the radio, now playing the upbeat melody of  _ Good Old Fashioned Lover Boy _ .

-

Anthony was unnerved, to say the least. 

He had tucked himself on the far end of the taxicab seat to stare out the window as the angel Aziraphale took the opposite side. Knees tucked together, hands in his lap, back as straight as if there was a ruler shoved down his spine. Bowtie knotted at his throat, his clothes in pristine condition yet a little worn around the buttons. His Azirafell would never allow such ware on his clothes. His Azirafell wouldn’t be sitting so proper, be fiddling with his fingers so anxiously, or stand sitting in such silence. 

Anthony sighed. With a wave of his hand, the driver of the cab will conveniently have no memory of this drive once the trip was completed. He turned in place to face the Principality, golden eyes over tinted glasses. 

Aziraphale seemed to squirm under his gaze. He let out a strangled, “What?”

“Don’t look at me like I’m about to smite you,” Anthony requested. “That was the whole point of going by Anthony instead of Raphael.” 

“Right.” Aziraphale still didn’t seem to heed his advice. “It is just difficult to break the habit. Gabriel has been breathing down my neck for years.” 

“Ugh, Gabe. What a bastard.” That got the Principality to smirk. “Can’t imagine having him as a boss.” 

“It is just as you describe,” Aziraphale said, some of the tension between them released. 

A pause. Anthony cleared his throat. “I didn’t mean to invoke any… ‘heavenly wrath’ on you earlier. Sorry.” Aziraphale’s gaze flickered to his, and even those blue eyes were different. “It’s been a difficult day.” 

Aziraphale’s expression softened. “I understand.”

The angel had such round features that his demon counterpart shared, but the way Aziraphale expresses is vastly different. His smiles are soft, almost shy, as if he has to be wary of what shows on his face. Heaven’s influence, no doubt. Anthony almost wants to reach out, tear those boundaries down, to see the manic grin that always graces Azirafell’s features when Anthony was around. 

_ Azirafell _ . Seeing the angel across from him reminded Anthony of what he’s lost. And yet, he couldn’t bring himself to resent Aziraphale. Even in other universes, Anthony adored him. The apple of his eye - he snorted at the thought.

Aziraphale gave him a questioning look. Anthony shrugged. 

“I did think about what you said,” Anthony admitted. “But, I pose an argument.”

“Is that right?”

“Yes.” Aziraphale had explained their roles to stopping the End of Times before the silence had stifled the interior of the cab. “Adam will choose his human side whether or not both Azirafell and I are there, or he will give in to his power and end the world anyway. So,” He turned in his seat to properly face the other angel. “What is the point of going back?”

Aziraphale opened his mouth but didn’t speak right away, his brows knitted together in confusion. 

“I mean, that’s what we’re doing right? Finding your Antichrist to bring me back?”

“I--yes,” Aziraphale said. “But, you don’t belong here.”

“Let me explain it to you this way,” Anthony continued, ignoring Aziraphale’s frown. “Either I get destroyed along with my planet, or even worse, I go back to a world without Azirafell in it.” Aziraphale flinches at this. “I don’t prefer either option, honestly.”

“...I don’t believe that’s the correct solution,” Azirapale said, hushed. 

“Would it be so bad to have two of us around?” Anthony felt a desperation rise in him. The angel in front of him was not his Azirafell, but Anthony wasn’t about to give up a second chance when it was handed to him. “A demon on one arm, an Archangel on another. You’d be the most protected Principality this world has ever seen.” 

Anthony wasn’t one for tempting, that was Aizrafell’s job, but he had learned a thing or two over the years. He lifted a delicate hand to brush at the angel’s curls, so  _ achingly  _ like his demon’s, as Aziraphale’s face froze and took on a new shade of color. He trailed his fingers down the angel’s cheek to follow it, his touch so gentle, so soft. 

He could get used to it. This angel was not Azirafell, but looked and seemed so much like him. 

Then, a haunting phrase came to mind:  _ You go too fast for me, Anthony.  _

He pulled away. 

“Up to you, I guess.” Anthony resumed watching the streets of London pass by the window. He tucked his hands in the pockets of his jacket just to keep them from doing anything else. “Think about it.” 

Aziraphale didn’t say anything else. When Anthony chanced a glance, he had his hands tucked in his lap and eyes pointed straight ahead, his posture rigid and cold, his expression carefully guarded. Anthony huffed and looked away. Azirafell would speak his mind, whether or not it got him the response he wanted. He wasn’t used to this swallowing silence.

The rest of the ride was tense, until the confused taxicab driver dropped them off at Jasmine Cottage. Anthony briefly cocked his head at the dark Bentley parked just outside - “wrong color,” he muttered to himself - before finally following Aziraphale up to the door. 

The door was opening before the Principality could knock. The woman on the other side had round glasses, a pair which Anthony thought was a pleasant choice of style, along with long, dark hair and a patterned dress. She appeared relieved to see them. 

“Oh, good,” The woman, Anathema the Witch as Anthony remembered, “You’re here. They’re with the children out back.” 

“Thank you, dear,” Aziraphale said, smiling pleasantly. He gestured to his companion. “This is Anthony. I assume Crowley told you about our situation over the phone?”

“Yup,” Anathema said, leaning against the door frame as they entered. “I guess I should be grateful I forgot my periodicals about multiverse theories back home.” 

“I’m grateful about that, too.”

Anathema lead them through the house, where they passed a young man Anthony wasn’t warned about, watching through glass doors into the garden. He turned at their approach. 

“Oh,” The man said. “Crowley, but an angel, right?”

“Anthony,” He corrected. 

“Newt, he doesn’t have snake eyes!” Anathema pointed at Anthony excitedly. 

The man, Newt, groaned. “Ugh. Fine. I’ll cough up the money tomorrow. But I still stand by my point that snakes aren’t inherently evil.” 

“Who says that?” Anthony asked, mildly offended, simultaneously with Aziraphale’s, “Of course not!” 

They glanced at each other then immediately looked away. Anathema stifled a laugh. 

“Just go get your boyfriends,” She said, sliding open the glass door. 

Anthony moved forward not on his own accord, his mind only catching up with the plural ‘boyfriends’ when he was already standing in the garden. There, he froze. 

One young boy with tousled hair stood on the back of a bench, one arm outstretched with a pair of sunglasses perched on his forehead. Along his shoulders was a long, red-bellied snake, baring fangs at three other children, but quite clearly not going to attack. On the ground, holding various toy weaponry, were two young boys and a girl with a dog scampering around their feet and barking madly. One other young boy, who Anthony recognized as Warlock but not  _ their  _ Warlock, was standing off to the side, a stick hanging limply in one hand while he scrolled through his phone in the other.

They had entered the back yard just in time to hear the boy shout, “ _ Attack from above! _ ”

Then there, in the sky, was a giant magpie just as unnaturally large as the serpent, two pairs of eyes on either side of its head, as it swooped from the sky and circled the children with ear-piercing caws. It nipped at them, startling one of the boys into falling and tripping backwards, but without inflicting any actual damage. The kids shrieked in laughter, hitting the air with their foam swords and ducking to the ground. Warlock was hit with a wing and was startled into dropping his phone with a sharp curse. The only one still standing as the magpie landed on the bench next to Adam was the girl. 

“I destroyed War, I’ll destroy you too!” She shouted, pointing a stick at the ‘demons’ occupying the bench. 

Anthony didn’t really take in the rest of the scene, however. He was stuck on the magpie, such a familiar form that it made him freeze on the spot. 

Then the bird noticed him. It noticeably perked up, its feathers ruffling and a squeal of delight coming out of its beak. The next second, it was upon him. 

-

Azirafell didn’t know how happy it would make him to see Anthony again. 

His irritation at Crowley was short-lived, as those things tended to go. They went to discussing their various temptations over the years, starting at the very first in the Garden. They each had a love of causing chaos in the streets of Soho, and Azirafell was finally glad to have  _ someone _ agree with him on quantity over quality (and especially someone to bitch with about Hastur). 

Crowley was just as grumpy as Anthony, but a lot more willing to show it. He was such a whine-ass too, but Azirafell wasn’t demonic enough to say that to his face. 

Anathema was nice enough, a bit underwhelming for a witch, and her boyfriend had the most forgettable face, but the Antichrist and his friends were a team no one could ever forget. Warlock vaguely recognized him as ‘Other Brother Francis’ and told him his coat looked stupid before going back to his gameboy. They all seemed to understand the situation fairly well - “My mother once told me about quantum theory. I think that’s the same thing,” Pepper said - and took it in stride. Adam asked Azirafell a couple questions - “What’s with your eyes?” “Can you also turn into a snake?” - which the demon couldn’t refuse to answer. It was the reason he Fell after all, and he quickly grew proud of this other Antichrist. 

Then the children had roped both demons into their little game, which Azirafell absolutely adored. It was a hell of a lot more fun to pretend to dominate the world than it was to actually do it. 

And then - some cherubic copy of him that could fit on the Sistine Chapel walked out the door, followed by his Anthony. Not the demonic version, not any other versions out there, but his positively glowing angel. 

Azirafell couldn’t wait for their game to finish. He leapt from the edge of the bench, shifting out of his magpie form in the air and landing on his two feet. Never having qualms about showing affection, Azirafell threw his arms around his angel. 

“Oh, Anthony!” Azirafell exclaimed. “You’re finally here! You must meet Adam, he asks so many questions, you’ll just adore him! And the other you? Oh, you’ll have your hands full with the both of us--!” 

He stopped as he realized Anthony was shaking. Azirafell pulled back just in time to see a tear roll down the angel’s cheek

“Oh, my dear.” Azirafell gently cupped Anthony’s chin, catching the stray tear on his thumb. “What happened?”

Anthony’s breath stuttered. He snatched Azirafell’s wrist and turned his face against his palm, closing his eyes. Azirafell froze. Helplessly glanced up, down. Let himself savor it another moment - surely another world’s God couldn’t cast Anthony down, but this wasn’t something he took risks on - before Azirafell pulled his hand away. Anthony didn’t fight it, but he had a resigned acceptance on his face that was somehow scarier than an argument. 

“Angel!” 

Azirafell turned to see Crowley, shifted out of snake form, approach and wrap an arm around the other angel - Aziraphale. Ugh, names. 

“Shush, my dear,” Aziraphale said, already tugging his demon towards the house, where Anathema and Newt had disappeared with the children. “Give them a moment.” 

With that, they both disappeared, the cherub giving a short wave before the glass door was shut behind them. Not all that effective; he could see the children spying through it, hands cupped around their faces with no qualms about being seen. 

He returned his attention back to Anthony just in time to see him fix the tinted glasses on his face. Azirafell scoffed. 

“Oh, get those ridiculous things off.” He plucked the pair easily off the end of Anthony’s nose and tossed them somewhere behind him, ignoring Anthony’s indignant cry. The angel had cleared his expression of anything revealing what he was so distraught about earlier, now sporting his familiar disdainful sneer. 

“That was unnecessary.” He pouted. 

“And you’re dodging,” Azirafell pointed out. Anthony looked away. “What’s the matter, dear?” He paused, glancing over Anthony’s shoulder to the house. “Did the Other-Me hurt you?” 

Anthony scoffed. “Of course not. Unlike you, I don’t think he’d hurt a fly.” 

“Can’t be too careful, my dear.” 

Another pause. Azirafell crossed his arms and tilted his head, smiling pleasantly while Anthony twitched under his waiting stare. It wasn’t long after that when Anthony finally broke. 

He let out a long suffering sigh. “I thought you were dead, you fiend.” 

Azirafell cocked his head. “Dead? Why would you think that?”

“Your pawn shop. Before I fell here--” He gestured around vaguely. “--I found your shop flooded. Thought it was holy water, that the demons went after you like the angels went after me.”

“Oh, you don’t think I can handle a few minor demons?” Azirafell teased. Then he registered the rest of Anthony’s response. “My pawn shop flooded?”

“Completely soaked. Not sure how much of your trinkets are waterproof.” 

“Eh, most enough. Except for the old journals, misprinted Bibles, books…” He paused, his eyes widening. “Oh, the book! The one by Agnes Nutter-!” 

“ _ Nice and Accurate Prophecies? _ ” Anthony fished in the inner pockets of his jacket before pulling out the exact copy that Azirafell left in the shop. “Took it as a, uh, souvenir.”

Azirafell snatched it and flipped through it, relieved to find no water damage. “Oh, thank you, my dear. I meant to tell you that I found where the Antichrist is with this, but I suppose…” He nodded towards the house. “That’s not needed anymore.” 

“Right.” Anthony stepped back, summoned another pair of tinted glasses to perch on his nose, before turning to walk towards the house. “Well, if we want to stop our Antichrist from destroying the world, we should go talk to the kid.” 

Anthony’s full extent of his thoughts and feelings were always held back, restrained by the threat of Heaven’s expectations, but for the last few years he was never shy to speak his mind - Azirafell’s influence, he supposed, as much as he denied it - it was as if he  _ wanted  _ to Fall. Azirafell wasn’t a blind demon, however. He knew that Anthony must be held with higher respect than other low-level angels, or else he’d have joined Azirafell down Below by now. But that doesn’t mean it’s impossible. That idea frightened the demon, though he never spoke of it out loud. 

Now, though. Anthony appeared more closed off than before. 

Crowley’s admission earlier came to mind -  _ You know why I wouldn’t regret it? _ \- and he suddenly felt sick watching his dear friend walk away, feeling privy to feelings he probably wasn’t supposed to know about. 

_ Anthoneys _ . Always dramatic, always protective. 

He managed to catch the angel’s sleeve before Anthony got too far away. 

“My dear,” Azirafell said. Even with his tinted glasses on, he could see Anthony’s steady golden gaze, very unlike Crowley’s. Much easier to lose his train of thought. “Ah. I just, well…” 

Steeling himself, he twisted his grip to easily link his fingers with Anthony’s. Before either of them could chicken out, Azirafell placed a hand firmly on top. 

“When this Apocalypse nonsense is over, I do believe we should talk,” He said, placing careful emphasis on ‘talk’. 

Anthony appeared stunned for a few seconds, blinking slowly as if he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Then, jerkily, he nodded. 

“Right,” He said, voice strangled. “We should. Yes. Of course.”

Azirafell looked down, knowing he was unable to hide the uncharacteristically fond grin on his face, and instead trailed an absent finger down the back of Anthony’s hand. Anthony shivered as Azirafell paused at his wrist. His pink sleeves had fallen back an inch or so, and Azirafell caught a flash of gold--

Then the sliding glass door opened and Adam poked his head out. 

“We’re ready in here whenever you lovebirds are--!” 

Two hands came out of the depths of the house to pull him back in. There was muffled laughter as the door shut again, and Anthony pulled away. 

“Yes, we’ll--we’ll talk,” He said, then awkwardly turned on his heel and marched towards the cottage. 

Azirafell didn’t think much about the gold after that, but it floated in the back of his mind for later. 

-

Aziraphale grabbed one of the boy’s arms while Crowley snatched the other, tugging Adam back into the house while his little friends giggled. Adam didn’t seem bothered by the interruption. 

“They were taking too long,” He said simply, with an innocent smile. 

“They always take too long,” Warlock muttered from his place at the cottage dining table, gameboy in his hand with his feet propped on the surface. “They were too busy making out--” 

“I think that’s enough, dearie,” Crowley warned, slipping easily into his Nanny voice like second nature. 

Newt leaned down to murmur to Warlock. “You will tell us what it was like growing up with those two, won’t you?”

Anathema appeared on the other side of him with a notebook. “I’d like to take notes.” 

Warlock only shrugged. “Leave me alone and I’ll think about it.” 

“I can most assuredly promise we weren’t busy because of that,” Aziraphale chimed in. Like he could ever forget the lectures on plant care he’d receive every night from Nanny Ashtoreth, pointing out every plant he miracled alive from the brink of death. 

No one seemed to believe him. Crowley grinned cheekily at him. 

The conversation was interrupted when the glass door slid open again as Anthony and Azirafell entered the cottage. Compared to earlier, Aziraphale noticed that Anthony seemed a little lighter. He should’ve assumed that Heaven’s authority mattered very little to any version of Crowley, and that the weight bearing on Anthony’s shoulders was in fact only the supposed death of Azirafell. Now that he’s back, Anthony had motivation to return his own universe again - and they can hopefully move past whatever happened during the ride here. 

Aziraphale hadn’t properly met his ‘other self’ yet, but he could see right away that this demon version had a higher standard of style than he did. The magpie aesthetic was certainly fitting, especially after witnessing their little game in the garden. Aziraphale was very fond of his clothes - 180 years he’s kept this particular outfit in tact, that’s true dedication - but he was almost jealous.

Then Azirafell brazenly hooked his arm with Anthony’s, grinning wide with sharp canines. He had never seen his own face as easy to read as an open books. Those eyes made it hard to tell exactly where the demon was looking, but that did not change that this Azirafell did not live his life as carefully guarded as his angel counterpart.

That made Aziraphale actually jealous. 

“I think it’s about time we stop the impending Apocalypse back in our world,” Azirafell said. “Don’t you agree, dear?”

“I think so as well, fiend,” Anthony said, his expression softening for the first time since Aziraphale had met him. He gave a little cheer to himself, happy to have reunited them. 

“Are you ready, Adam?” Anathema asked, placing a motherly hand on the kid’s shoulder. 

“I think so,” Adam said, shrugging. “I don’t actually know what I’m doing.” 

“I’m sure it’s as simple as that.” Crowley snapped his fingers to emphasize. “Just imagine that you’re bringing them home. Keep it simple.” 

Adam nodded. He got the same concentrated look on his face that he had back at the airbase, facing down Satan himself. He lifted his hands and began rubbing them together. There was a crackle in the air, almost like static electricity. Aziraphale noticed Crowley crowd close to him as the lights above them flickered. 

A rolling wave of thunder rocked the sky. Adam paused. 

“Someone’s coming,” He said. 

Another crackle of thunder. Aziraphale felt a chill run up his spine, realization dawning on him. Glancing to the other pair, he noticed Anthony felt it, too.

“Gabriel,” Anthony said, slowly, as if unsure.

There was another crackle as the sky suddenly stormed, another warning call of thunder. Aziraphale sighed. 

“I’ll go answer him,” He said, heading to the back door. Aziraphale waved to the out-of-place pair. “Get home safely, you two.” 

“Angel, no.” Crowley stepped up beside him. “What if it’s a trap?”

“I think we scared them off well enough last time,” Aziraphale said. “And besides, I don’t believe he’s here for me.” 

“He’s right,” Adam said, though didn’t appear to know why he knew. “I think it’s because of him.” He pointed to Anthony, who kept his gaze down. 

Azirafell cocked his head. “Because of Anthony?”

“Well, you two will be gone soon enough anyway,” Aziraphale said. “I’ll keep Gabriel distracted. Act fast.” 

With that, he slipped out of the house and into the garden, looking up at the rumbling sky. The wind had picked up and his jacket flapped around him as he waited. 

A bolt of lightning shot down in front of him, singing the ground as Gabriel manifested before him, dressed as primly as usual, with a tight expression on his face. It was an odd look, one that Aziraphale had never seen on the Archangel. 

“Principality Aziraphale,” Gabriel greeted, voice tight. It suddenly struck Aziraphale then; he was  _ afraid _ . 

A little bit of his anxiety melted away. “Archangel Gabriel.” Then, while attempting to summon the same grin he had seen on Azirafell, “What a pleasant surprise. What brings you to Earth?”

To his delight, Gabriel seemed to shrink back. “Ah. Well. We felt a disturbance from up Above, and thought you and your  _ demon _ might know something about it.” 

Aziraphale hummed. “I don’t believe I know what you mean. Care to elaborate?”

Gabriel pressed his lips together in a tight line. “Whatever it was made quite an impact. Every angel in Above felt it. Even humans noticed it.”

“Well, now that you mention it, I believe I did notice something earlier.” Aziraphale tapped his chin as if thinking about it. “But neither Crowley or I have anything to do with it.”

Gabriel visibly bristled. “You must have something to do with it. We checked all the systems and it’s not coming from either end.”

“Either end? Are you consorting with the enemy again Gabriel? Do be careful, I believe that’s grounds for death by a cyclone of hellfire.”

There was something very satisfying watching Gabriel scowl like that. Like he released a little bit of six thousand years of pent up anger. Aziraphale might have continued his taunts, when he heard the door slide open behind him and Crowley sauntered out from the house.

“Crowley?” Aziraphale asked, watching the demon fix his sunglasses into place. “What are you…?”

“The demon Crawly,” Gabriel said, summoning back his bravado. He wouldn’t dare look like a frightened Archangel in front of a  _ demon _ . “I can assure you that your superiors will have a word with you shortly.” 

“Uh, actually, minor correction,” Crowley said. There was something slightly off about him, but Aziraphale couldn’t pinpoint it right away. “I don’t actually answer to those guys anymore.” 

“That hardly matters since you’re still a demon.” Gabriel glared. “It’s a miracle that Aziraphale hasn’t joined you yet.” He didn’t even laugh at his own lame joke, which began to set off warning bells in Aziraphale’s head. 

“Ah, I’ll have to correct you again on that.” 

Gabriel paused. “Which part?”

Crowley removed his sunglasses, revealing not the serpentine slits, but glossy gold. Aziraphale realized then that the tattoo on the side of his face was missing.  _ Oh _ . 

“I’m not a demon.” 

Anthony rolled up his sleeves, where his forearms bore bright serpent trails down to the backs of his hands. He clapped his hands twice, and the serpents curled down from the tips of his fingers to twine together in an embrace glowing like molten gold. The glow dimmed to reveal a caduceus that Anthony gripped with both hands. He slammed the end of the staff into the ground, sending vibrations across the garden as three sets of massive white wings burst into existence behind him. 

Aziraphale never had the privilege to watch Gabriel’s face when Crowley blew hellfire at the Archangels. The terror he saw now more than made up for that. Gabriel stood with his mouth open like a gaping fish, unable to form words. 

“But--That’s….impossible….”

Anthony tucked the sunglasses carefully at the collar of his shirt. He smiled lazily at Gabriel. 

“Now, where were we, Brother?”

-

“Did you just lick me?!”

Crowley wiped his hand off on the tan trousers he was tricked into wearing. Azirafell pushed away from him, crossing his arms and pouting. 

“ _ You _ wouldn’t let go,” Azirafell pointed out. He spun back towards the glass doors and looked ready to bolt again when Crowley latched a hand on his elbow. 

“He’ll be  _ fine _ ,” Crowley said. He glanced out through the glass. “Looks like Gabe’s already pissing himself anyway.” 

Crowley was considerably miffed when the Other-Him decided to step in, like he knew what was good for  _ his  _ angel. It was enjoyable to watch Gabriel squirm from the window. He made a mental note to buy crepes for Aziraphale later just for standing up to his old boss like this. But the sight must have put Anthony on edge, because the next thing Crowley knew was that he was wearing a pink button-up with a horrid white sweater and a rose on his lapel. 

“Ay, what the--” 

“Gabriel is going to smite him if we don’t do something,” Anthony said, fixing Crowley’s sunglasses into place. He was the spitting image of his demonic counterpart, minus the tattoo by his ear and misbehaving hair. In fact, Crowley grumped at the idea that he looked like a more cleaned-up version of himself. 

Crowley looked out the window again - noticed the orange-pink tint and pulled those poor excuses for glasses off - and this time truly did see how out of sorts Gabriel was getting. He began getting a sick feeling in his stomach. 

“Keep him safe,” He said to Anthony, who nodded and slid out the back door. 

That was when the fancy lightshow happened, because as it turned out, Other-Him was an Archangel. Who would’ve guessed?

Azirafell didn’t, apparently. He had made to bolt out the door when Crowley got an arm around him, one on his waist and the other over his mouth to keep from interrupting the moment and giving away the fact that no, Crowley the Demon didn’t suddenly turn into an Archangel. 

“You should be more worked up about this,” Azirafell said, gesturing out the window. “That’s  _ you _ .” 

“No, it isn’t.” Crowley was only too sure of that fact. “Hardly matters now anyway. Hell doesn’t exactly care about status in Heaven.” 

Azirafell made a move to argue, but he couldn’t deny that it was true. 

The Them were looking out the windows now, Warlock had even joined them, Anathema and Newt watching over their shoulders. The sight of an Archangel puts fear in low level demons - aside from the one exception - but for humans, it’s a sight to behold. Crowley didn’t remember much from before the Fall, but he had a sneaking suspicion that if he used to be an angel of such a high level, then he wouldn’t be where he is today. Maybe that’s why Aziraphale doesn’t Fall in this world. Maybe that’s the root of this strange butterfly effect. 

Curious, always curious. But right now wasn’t the time to ask impossible questions. 

It was with another crack of thunder that Gabriel disappeared from the garden. Crowley watched Anthony and Aziraphale exchange a few short words before Anthony’s wings and staff disappeared, and the pair came back to the cottage. 

Azirafell immediately met Anthony with a somber stare and crossed arms. Crowley knew that he had tons of questions just waiting, but he was demonic enough to make Anthony feel guilty for a little while. 

“...Sorry,” Anthony eventually admitted. 

“That was epic!” Warlock shouted, running up to Crowley. “Nanny! Can you do that too?”

Crowley shot a scowl at Anthony. “Of course dearie, but  _ much  _ more evil.” 

Aziraphale sighed. “We don’t have to keep teaching him like that, you know.” 

“Well--”

“Okay! This time for real!” Adam clapped his hands together, gaining the attention of the rest of the room. Once again, he began rubbing his hands together, and the air filled with energy. Pepper, Wensleydale, and Brian tried to get Warlock’s long hair standing up. 

In the corner, Crowley noticed Anthony take Azirafell by the hands and murmur quiet words. Some private discussion that no one else was meant to be privy to. Crowley gently took Aziraphale’s arm and lead him a few feet away.

“I’ll be honest,” Aziraphale said, voice low. “I’ll be happy to be the only Aziraphale and Crowley on Earth again.”

“Yeah? Kinda wished I learned a bit more about Other Me,” Crowley said, curiosity still poking at the back of his mind. 

Something pained crossed Aziraphale’s face. “He is certainly unique.” 

There was something more to that, but Crowley didn’t get a chance to ask when a bright light flashed inside the cottage. Blinking the spots out of his eyes, a white line had opened up in front of Adam. 

“Is that it?” Wensleydale asked. 

“I think so,” Adam said. 

“Well, dear,” Azirafell said, holding out a hand to Anthony. “Let’s stop the End of the World.” 

“Are we sure this leads back to our world?” Anthony asked, skeptically examining the slit in reality. 

“That’s what I thought of.” Adam shrugged. 

“One way to find out.” Azirafell sent a wink to Anthony before stepping through the portal. 

Anthony tried and failed to reach out for him. “ _ Ugh _ , you fiend!” 

There was a pause, and Crowley almost got concerned - then a hand with a magpie-themed sleeve reached out, fluttered his fingers, and disappeared again. 

Anthony sighed. “I guess that’s my leave.” He turned to the rest of them. “Uh, thank you. For helping us. And I hope Gabriel leaves you alone now.” He smiled, tense, at Aziraphale. “So. Farewell.” 

Before Anthony stepped up to the portal, Crowley called out, “Hey, Other-Me!” Anthony paused, one fine eyebrow raised. “Let’s get a drink sometime, yeah?”

The Other-Him huffed a laugh. “Sure.”

Then he stepped through the portal. With a single clap of his hands, Adam closed it like he was turning off a lamp. Beside him, Aziraphale let out a slow breath. 

Crowley tucked an arm around him. “Hey, why don’t we go to the Ritz tonight?”

Aziraphale, as expected, lit up. 

“That sounds lovely, dear.”

-

They had finally done it. They met their Adam, who truly was human incarnate even without their influences. They saved the Earth.

And now Anthony wanted to sleep for an eternity. 

They came back to Anthony’s off-white minimalist apartment - “It looks so bland, dear,” - he watered his plants with a robotic routine, the heavy weight of their long day making him feel on the verge of collapsing. 

With the excitement of everything, it was easy to forget falling into strange openings into other universes, ones where things are very different yet very similar. Anthony would pin that under ‘Facing Down Satan’ on a list of Insane Ways to Spend the Day. 

Anthony set aside his mister and leaned his elbows on a kitchen counter, letting out a slow, steady breath. He felt a presence behind him before a gentle hand pressed between his shoulders. 

“Would you like to sleep, my dear?” Azirafell offered. He appeared as drawn-out as Anthony did. Still, there was a determined upturn of his lips. “We can talk in the morning.” 

Anthony weakly shook his head. “We have to figure out what the prophecy means.” He reached into his pocket to pull out the crumpled piece of paper, a piece he snagged from Agnes Nutter’s Book of Prophecies. 

_ Choose your faces wisely _ . What were they supposed to do with that?

“We can do it tomorrow,” Azirafell said, sliding a tempting hand over Anthony’s elbow. “Let’s get to bed.” 

“You don’t sleep, fiend.” 

“No. But I do believe a nap is overdue.” 

Anthony hesitated a moment longer before finally caving. That had been getting easier to do over the last few years. Azirafell lead him through the flat and to Anthony’s bedroom. White silk sheets, a pink overthrow at the base of the bed, feathered pillows, and black-out curtains - that unfortunately disrupted the flat’s aesthetic, but Anthony could do little about it - were key components Anthony discovered in the art of sleep. 

He flopped down on top of the covers once he was close enough. Azirafell huffed a laugh somewhere behind him before settling on the opposite side. There was a snap, and Azirafell was dressed in old-fashioned dark blue nightgown. Anthony hid his eye roll behind the duvet. 

Once they were each settled on opposite sides of the bed, Anthony didn’t allow himself to give in to the desperation clinging to the back of his mind. He had already done that once, with a different Azirafell, and he wasn’t about to make the same mistake twice. 

Still, it seemed Azirafell wasn’t ready to call it a night. 

“Are you going to take up the Other-You on his offer?”

Anthony stared up at the ceiling, his hands locked together on his stomach. “Dunno. Why?”

“Because I’ll probably tag along if you do,” Azirafell said. “I would love to hear more of Crowley’s stories. So much like us, but so different at the same time!”

The statement abruptly reminded Anthony of his own complicated feelings towards the Other-Azirafell. A bitterness rose with him. 

“Is he that interesting?” He couldn’t help muttering. 

There was a pause. Then, a shifting beside Anthony. 

“My dear,” Azirafell said, voice closer than before. “No one can replace you.” 

Relief made Anthony’s tense shoulders sag, a warmth in his chest he always felt in moments like this. Then it was soured by a wave of guilt as he remembered just how willing he was to replace the one person who meant everything to him. 

Wordlessly, he rolled over and slung an arm around Azirafell. The demon stiffened beneath his touch. Anthony expected a soft shove, maybe a playful jab, and for them to go back to pretending that there was nothing between them. It was how things usually played out. 

But instead, he felt a hesitant hand at the base of his neck, gentle fingers sliding through short hair. Gradually, the tension lifted as they sagged into each other. 

Anthony thought that was the end of their conversation when Azirafell spoke again. 

“That was a clever trick you did,” Azirafell said, soft. “Back in the other universe. I know I was mad at the time, but I’m sure you did them a huge favor.” 

Anthony shrugged. “We can only hope that it’ll keep them safe. Heaven isn’t easily deterred.” 

“Neither is Hell. But a young boy just told off Satan today, so I think anything’s possible.” 

“If only I could use my status against Heaven like that again,” Anthony wondered aloud. He chuckled, then added, “Maybe I could convince Crowley to come take whatever punishment Heaven is preparing for me. Give them a run for their money.” 

Azirafell didn’t respond, so Anthony looked up at him. He had that tight, thoughtful expression as if mulling over a difficult puzzle. As Anthony watched, Azirafell’s face lit up with an epiphany. 

“ _ Choose your faces wisely _ ,” He murmured. “What if that’s what the prophecy is talking about?”

“Have Crowley and Aziraphale take our places?” He wasn’t too keen on going to visit them again quite so soon. 

But Azirafell shook his head. “Not exactly that, no. You swapped with Crowley to trick Gabriel. What if  _ we  _ swap instead?”

Anthony blinked. Then he sat up, snapping his fingers to turn on the table lamp. He faced Azirafell with an almost manic grin. 

“You, fiend, are a  _ genius _ .” 

**Author's Note:**

> Aziraphale & Anthony: A tense, potentially unhealthy relationship mainly due to a power imbalance and misguided feelings.   
Crowley & Azirafell: Enablers who egg each other on to do increasingly stupid shit like the worst frat boys. Aziraphale & Anthony are 95% their self control. 
> 
> Scrapped ideas:  
\- Azirafell & Anthony go to the OG verse and they all swap places to survive their trials  
\- Only the aziraphales swap/only the crowleys swap
> 
> may revisit someday, but feel free to steal these lmao


End file.
